


At Duty's End

by Drake_The_Traveller



Category: Halo (Video Games) & Related Fandoms, SWAT Kats: The Radical Squadron
Genre: Action/Adventure, Blood and Gore, Drama, Eventual Romance, Explicit Language, F/M, First Contact, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma, Science Fiction, Slow Burn, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-02
Updated: 2018-09-02
Packaged: 2019-07-05 19:56:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15870675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drake_The_Traveller/pseuds/Drake_The_Traveller
Summary: Awakening lost, confused, and possessing no memory of how he arrived, a spartan finds himself stranded on a world far more alien than any before it. Bereft of everything but his sense of duty and distorted morality, The Lone Wolf of Reach must come to terms with his purposeless existence as he is dragged into a conflict he wanted no part in.





	1. Unwanted Revelations

He awoke to smoke and fire.

A thick, black miasma of carbonized smog shrouded his vision in obscurity, the helmet sealed to his armor likely all that had prevented him from suffocating in his insentience. Indolent with excess fatigue and beset by a head splitting migraine, he fought to focus through the fugue of misperception hanging over his wakefulness. Driven by instinct where training was otherwise hindered, he tried to gather some kind of situational report, concentrating first on himself.

The interior of his helm was as dark and silent as the void, the electronics of his Heads Up Display drained of power for reasons as of yet clarified, but nevertheless alarming. His armor’s systems were military-grade, and as such, supposedly impervious to most forms of electromagnetic interference. That something could have disabled or otherwise inhibited his equipment was cause for concern, but given the unrecalled context of his situation, could be deliberated at a later moment in time when he could afford to think.

After all, where there’s smoke, there’s fire.

The dampening capabilities of his headgear introduced an unusual surrealism as he bathed in unseen flames.

He could feel the heat of fire lick the hulking and yet elegant contours of his armor, the orange glow of the conflagration concealed within the impenetrable pollution of black smoke. And though he could feel it, he could not see it. His vision nullified by the murky haze, and yet still aware of the blaze that had consumed him, the man shifted into motion.

As he moved he gathered a sense of awareness for his environment, a twisted realm of shattered steel and boiling earth. Yet he could not move far, a great weight lay across the breadth of his torso, a burning chunk of warped steel that must have weighed well over four-hundred pounds. Grumbling in irritation, he braced his palms across the cumbersome alloy and with a quite grunt of exertion, tossed it aside.

With his movement no longer restricted, he made an attempt to stand that failed part way. He staggered forwards as the muscles in his right thigh struggled to obey commands around the metal object with which they were impaled. Though he could hardly see in this clouded soup of blackened air, he could feel the scorching shrapnel tunneled deep into the meat of his leg.

A grim rictus split across his lips as he clawed away from the fiery wreckage, his gauntlets tearing furrows into the scorched earth around him as he pulled himself forwards, the heat dissipating as he distanced himself from the epicenter of the devastation. Once clear of the smoke and fire he allowed himself the brief respite necessary to study his environment, hoping it would restore to him the pieces of his holed memory.

The lumbering forms of great trees loomed over him, a swath of shadowed vegetation that smoldered with a sickly orange glow as the light of the fire danced through the dark. And above a pale moon cast a pastel shadow across an unfamiliar night sky.

Returning his gaze earthwards, he watched flames consume the debris of some great metal contraption that had carved a deep gully into the terrain. Uprooted trees and burning vegetation littered the landscape, torn from their roots by some immense sharpened force. The somewhat symmetrical design of the object, even in its current form, kindled his memory incompletely. Though it had lost its grander, the YSS-1000 Sabre possessed a memorable fuselage that was unique from most UNSC vehicles.

He recalled in that moment, the vestige of his last waking memory, tarnished as it was by his muddled thoughts. Reach had fallen, forcing the remaining UNSC forces into full retreat all across the system. He had… remained behind to protect a halcyon cruiser as it attempted to breach atmosphere.

Everything after that was a pained blur, scattered flashes of indistinct memory that induced a migraine at every attempt to perceive them.

He scanned the sky once more, noting the absence of Covenant warships in low orbit, or indeed the second moon that had circumnavigated the planet. The disappearance of alien starships he might have believed. It was not impossible to consider their departure after the alien armada’s overwhelming victory, but the absence of Reach’s second satellite was far more improbable. As far as he was aware of Covenant technology, they as of yet did not possess the means or desires to destroy small planetoids, and if they had there would have been debris left in the wake of such a cataclysmic event.

With this information he could only surmise that he was no longer on Reach, a startling, but adaptable revelation. While concerning, it was as of yet not as an important admission as the discovery of his means of transportation having been destroyed, in most probability stranding him on a world that was as of yet unidentified. However he did not give in to despair.

There wasn’t much he had not been trained to deal with.

The man rose to his feet, favoring his injured leg as he returned to the crash site and lingered at the edge of the impact crater in wait for at least most of the fires to recede. Once the heat was somewhat tolerable, he examined the wreckage for any weapons or supplies he could still salvage.

He found a battle rifle amidst the wreck, though it had been ruined in the flames. The barrel was shorn off and the stock had been split apart, no doubt a result of the ammunition in the magazine cooking off in the inferno. He tossed the broken weapon to the side as he continued his search. Fifteen minutes spent in futility and he had almost given up, until he noticed a supply trunk buried under a mound of upturned earth. Rationalizing that it had been tossed about in the crash, and protected from the fire after it had been buried; he exhumed the metal crate and dragged it to the tree line where he could study it away from the smoldering remains of his strike craft.

The case was locked and protected by a passcode he did not have or otherwise could not remember. Unwilling to waste time, and somewhat irritated by the obstruction, he smashed the keypad under a plated fist. Giving off a fizz and a spark, the crate unlocked with a muted tone and he hurriedly ripped the lid off the trunk to inspect its contents.

In his examination, his lips twitched with the faintest flicker of a grin as he extracted the first weapon sitting at the top. Like most UNSC armaments it was large, bulky, and extremely deadly. A quick inspection revealed that it had been undamaged by the crash, and after opening a small box and removing a handful of shells, he loaded the shotgun and secured it to the magnetic strip on his armor’s spinal plating.

Returning to the crate he withdrew a sleek, matte black handgun that he quickly slotted onto his left thigh plate.  Further in, he found a SOCOM variant MA37 rifle as well as a few cans of biofoam, two weeks’ worth of MRE’s, two cans of C-7, and half a dozen fragmentation grenades in a small protective case.

Somewhat surprised at the rather impressive arsenal, he examined the supply crate for some form of identification, finding _PROPERTY OF THE OFFICE OF NAVAL INTELLIGENCE,_ scrawled across the far side in big, threatening italics.

He shrugged.

Technically, with no other UNSC presence in the vicinity, ownership of the weaponry and supplies would fall onto him.

The spartan spent several minutes unloading the magazines and other supplies from inside the trunk, securing them in the various cases spread about his armor. Near the end of his unpacking he discovered one last item at the very bottom of the case, a combat knife with a non-reflective coating and self-sharpening blade, which slid easily into the sheath on his right shoulder.

Now properly armed and equipped, the augmented soldier felt the slightest hint of reprieve in this uncertain situation.

While securing inventory, the spartan ran a reboot on his Mjolnir’s electronic systems. Once his HUD was restored he hoped to be able to contact any UNSC assets in range. Hopefully from there he could either find a means off the planet, or he would accept at the bare minimum new standing orders. He hadn’t received new directives since he delivered the package, and was somewhat unnerved by the lack of direction.

As he adjusted the ACOG scope on his rifle, his HUD sputtered into existence. Relief washed over him as he watched its software update and reconnect to his armor’s systems. Even before it finished reinstalling, he activated his long range transceiver and attempted to attach his signal to any local UNSC broad band transmissions.

The silence he received was foreboding, lacking even the static garble of a bad receiver. It was as if there simply was no signal to piggyback on.

Troubled, he attempted to access any low band communications following UNSC codes, only to be met with a similar response.

That… was not good.

There was only one reason he could think of why he could not attain a successfully link. Wherever he was, whatever planet he was on, was not connected to a UNSC TACNET. Either that or there were no military or commercial satellites to bounce the signal off of.

That was... significantly worse.

If there was no TACNET, chances are there would be no UNSC presence planetside or otherwise. His stranding here on this world was more problematic than he had at first predicted. The probability of getting off this rock and reconnecting with allied forces was proving to be more and more unlikely.

The spartan wracked his brain, trying to recall anything that might help explain where he was or how he got here. But for all his efforts, his memories after the _Autumn’s_ departure were at that moment unrecoverable.

A soft _ping_ interrupted his thoughts, and the human supersoldier glanced to his motion tracker, noting with some measure of alarm, the trio of large sensor returns closing in on his position from a hundred meters to his left.

Not a second later his HUD was finally restored, and with it his external audio transmitter, allowing him to hear the low rumble of approaching vehicles.

Too little too late...

The spartan glanced to his ship’s crash site, the fires finally having died as a waning trail of silvery vapor trailed up into the atmosphere. The soldier realized that his crash must have been noticed by whatever locals lived on this planet, and that the smoke trail had given away his position. He debated for a moment, the logic and probability of UNSC forces coming for retrieval, and swiftly banished the notion as hopefully moronic. Yet he did not think it was the Covenant, he hadn’t picked up on the presence of their military net, nor did the vehicles approaching possess the unearthly whine of their uncanny technology.

He considered the possibility of insurrectionist roots, but remained uncertain. Unless they used a different satellite network, he should have been able to at the least pick up on their transmissions.

Either way he would not dawdle out in the open while potential enemy forces moved in to secure the location, nor would he vacate the area without first learning who the investigators were. Looking back to the tree line, he noticed a particularly large oak, with thick branches.

Unsheathing his knife, he sprinted towards the tree and catapulted upwards, jamming the blade deep into the bark. Working quickly, he scaled its height and lightly balanced on the thickest branch he could find. Once secure, he faded into the trees shadow, matching the movement of his body with the sway of the leaves on the breeze.

Though his memory of Reach was questionable, he had not forgotten his training.

He watched from his concealed position as a trio of headlights pierced the gloomy shadows of the makeshift clearing, illuminating the sabre’s wreckage as the vehicles pulled to a stop at the lip of the crater. The spartan studied them intently; curious to note that they neither resembled UNSC nor Covenant manufacture, though they did somewhat bear a resemblance to human engineering.  

Insurrectionists?

Possibly, but unlikely. Despite their refusal to operate under UNSC authority, they still utilized UNSC assets, however outdated. Nor did they possess the means to produce their own equipment.

The spartan returned his attention to the cars, noting their appearance for later review and cross examination with known producers. Closed roof, four doors, tinted windows; their silver and blue markings gave credence to some form of local constabulary organization, further proof of the unlikelihood of insurrectionist ties. No cell he had ever broken showed a desire to maintain public order. Their faction appeared more concerned with sowing chaos.

Though unable to peer inside, he noticed movement within the lead car and silently removed the MA37 from his back to sight in on the opening door. Flicking off the safety, he connected the assault rifle’s scope with his HUD, a set of crosshairs superimposing over the vision of his right eye. His finger slid off the guard and lightly set on the trigger, ready to fire at the slightest hint of provocation.

He watched carefully as the driver’s door popped open and a figure stepped out, clothed in a uniform representative of the vehicle they had emerged from, grey apparel tucked underneath a dark blue plate carrier. Concerned that it might offer protection from small arms fire, he raised his scope and centered it on the forehead of the suspected local official and –

nearly pulled the trigger on reflex.

It was confusion he felt at first, followed shortly after by calm disbelief, then cold skepticism as he examined the individual in his crosshairs.

Following the lead of the first officer, and unware of how close they skittered with death, the other cars opened their doors and a small group emerged. And all of them, every single one of them, were not human.

There were only two things that had stayed his hand from dropping the entire group in a burst of precision gunfire. He needed to carefully monitor his consumption of ammunition, and they shared no resemblance to the Covenant’s many unusual races.  They were, in fact, remarkably humanoid in appearance, so much that he would not have been able to tell the difference from a distance. They all seemed to be members of the same species. More than that, they were, unexpectedly, somewhat familiar. 

The one he tracked with his rifle had much in common with a domestic cat, and had he belonged to any other military authority; he might have chuckled at the absurdity of this apparent first contact situation. Considering however his service record and induction into the spartan initiative, he was bereft entirely of any sense of levity, and was in fact quite somber in his cursory examination. The soldier had a feeling that the unremembered events on Reach had sent him far away from UNSC, or even Covenant territory.

He studied the alien party, even as they studied his crashed ship in turn, mumbling in low tones as they sifted through the wreckage. Glancing at an icon at the bottom left of his HUD and blinking twice in quick succession, activated the audio sensors in his armor and heightened their detection range, allowing him to eavesdrop upon the conversation below.

“I don’t recognize the profile of the ship, Lieutenant.” One of the officers informed the one he had been watching. The spartan paused in thought, surprised to learn that he was capable of understanding their language, questioning the viability of such a development. Even with the Covenant lexicon in his suit’s translation matrix, he should not have been able to comprehend their speech. They spoke English, or at least one of the many human languages that still existed unto present date. Nevertheless he stowed his surprise swiftly, and instead considered the boon of not having to attempt to translate the local language. There would be time later for doubt.

“Neither do I.” Confessed the one he suspected of leading this assembly, voice recognition algorithms matching it as female with an eight percent margin for failure. “But whatever it is… its military. And far ahead of anything we’ve got in the air. The 911 call said it came crashing down from space, like a meteor. And nothing can fly that high.” 

“Think it’s from the Katzikstan?” Her subordinate asked. “I heard a few rumors back in my army days that they had some serious tech research going on up there.”

“No… it’s something else.” She muttered thoughtfully as she examined the site in further detail. “Where’s the pilot? Did they eject?”

“No ma’am, seat’s still in there. Or at least what’s left of it.”  Someone called out from down in the shallow crater. “No sign of a body though.”

“Maybe it’s a drone?” The second policeman suggested.

“Why would it need a cockpit then? Doesn’t make sense from a technical standpoint, it’d just be a waste of space. No, there was a pilot, there had to be.” The Lieutenant stated, confident in her hypothesis.

“What… they just got up and walked away… from this?”  The feline next to her seemed incredulous.

“Lieutenant, I’ve got something!” A voice called out excitedly from a few meters away, the eagerness in their voice drawing in the entire group and putting an end to the conversation.

“What is it?” The female in charge of the unit asked as she pushed her way to the front of the small crowd and addressed the officer crouching in the dirt.

“It’s a set of recurring tracks, leading away from the center of the crash. Kats alive! Somebody crawled out of that mess!”

Up in the trees, the spartan shifted lightly, his trigger finger tensing fractionally as he readied himself to open fire.

“No way anybody’d walk away from a crash like that, that’s impossible.”

“Well that’s what it looks like.”

A short argument of disbelief flared up between the party. As a result, Six eased off the trigger and instead decided to make good his exfiltration while they were otherwise occupied. An engagement with no intel was something he desired to avoid.  Using the chatter of loud voices to screen his movement, he dropped from the tree, his boots hardly producing a whisper as he landed on the grass. One last glance at the broken remnant of his sabre and the unusual aliens, he disappeared into the forest without a sound.

 

*****

 

Felina’s left ear twitched.

Turning away from her arguing juniors, she focused her gaze upon the tree line. Intuition born of experience had drawn her gaze that way, and she was not one to ignore her instincts. In her examination of the swaying leaves, she noticed a slight difference in the cadence of the largest oak closest to the site of the crash. Lowering her paw to the handgun holstered at her side she walked over to investigate.

As she approached she noticed flakes of fallen bark littering the dirt around the tree. Further analysis revealed that large sections of the tree’s wooded hide had been scoured away, much the way when an animal sought to climb. She followed the trail with her eyes as led up to a branch twenty feet from the ground.

A trickle of unease seeped down her spine as she studied the empty branch, gathering the sense it had not been so barren moments ago. The feline turned back to the empty pilot’s seat, then to the pattern of overturned dirt leading away from the scene. Hazel eyes watched with growing disquiet as the trajectory of the prints followed a direct path under her, and ended just before the oak behind her.

In a moment she had drawn her weapon and spun on her heels to face the forest, but there was nothing to place in her sights. And that’s when she noticed the silence, the distinct lack of bird calls or even shuffle of wild animals in the underbrush.

She took a step away from the edge, her fur prickling all across her body as she felt the attention of unseen eyes.

“Lieutenant Feral?”  The somewhat concerned call of one of her subordinates shook her from her cautious reverie.

“Yes trooper?” She asked, a heavy, but silent sigh easing through her lips as she holstered her handgun.

“So… what do we tell the Commander?”

The feline returned her gaze to the forest uncertainly.

Something told her she was about to pull a very… very late shift.

“I’ll let you know when I figure it out.”  


	2. In a Den of Lions

It was with great effort of will that the spartan repressed the notion of defeat, as he skulked into the night’s shadow to avoid confrontation with the local species of this world. It had been bred, and often beaten into him by the Office of Naval Intelligence, that failure to maintain one’s duty was utterly unacceptable. Even with the knowledge that a withdrawal in the face of unknown opposition did not necessarily equate to a defeat, and he had not retreated as a result of overwhelming resistance, he felt the bitter sting of inadequacy nonetheless

The sensation was only inflamed as he limped into the dense forestry of this alien world. It may not have been overpowering hostile forces that induced his flight. But as he shambled into the dark like a leper chased off by unreceptive townsfolk, leaving the shattered remnants of UNSC vehicular authority to be picked over by alien vultures, it was near impossible to swallow the acidic bile of his current insufficiencies.

He may have not been defeated.

But he _was_ failing.

The spartan paused next to a tree stump, taking a moment to consult his NAV software and examine the metallic shrapnel that still skewered his thigh. Unsurprisingly, the navigation systems in his Mjolnir were not operational. Considering there was no UNSC satellite or starship to slave his electronics to, he was deprived most of his armor’s tactical and information gathering systems. Without such amenities, he was forced to rely on his more linear options.

The only advantages he still possessed were mostly combat aids, shields were still functional and other than the breach in his thigh plating, his Mjolnir’s integrity had been otherwise undamaged. If not for the heavy armoring and shield generator built into both his suit and the sabre, he would have not been capable of walking away from that crash. Hell, if he hadn’t been equipped with the prototype Mjolnir he had been field testing for ONI, he might not have survived either way.

As he flicked the lid of his TACPAD to boot up the small, portable computer, hoping to check what other systems were still functional, he wrapped his free gauntlet around the warped spear of metal lodged into his thigh, and tore it out with a grunt of irritation. Before the wound could bleed too deep, he slid a can of biofoam out of a hardcase on his waist and jammed the nozzle into the breach.

Ignoring the stabbing pain that followed, he studied the TACPAD’s display with a weak flutter of relief. While he was unsurprised that it could not form a connection to the UNSC TACNET, it was at least able to scan his immediate surroundings with its built in sensors, and was already working to compile a localized mapping index.

At the moment it was barely rudimentary, but he hoped in the days to come - for he knew this was not a situation that would be resolved swiftly – it might prove useful yet. Leaving it to run its program independently, he closed the top of the device and moved away from the stump, continuing his trek through the forest in what was a maddening exercise of disorganization.

With his navigational databank unavailable, he did not even have access to the four cardinal directions, so he could no less use it to set a course for even north or south, instead he followed the survivalist training he had undertaken on Onyx. The sun may have already set, but he could yet use the moon to find his way. After all, the moon’s illumination was merely a reflection of the sun’s light. Recalling what Kurt-051 had taught him in the forest outside Camp Currahee, he was able to at least discover the direction of true north, and recalling from which direction the alien militia had arrived from, what was this particular planet’s western vector, he had been able to extrapolate a path that might lead him to a location of significance on this world.

Where technology failed, human knowledge and intuition excelled. Or in the words of his drill instructor, _a soldier was as only as effective as the brain in his head_. With an objective, he set course with a lingering ghost of his resolve haunting his unrelenting and single-minded pace.

Out here in the woods he was ineffective, deprived of the tools and the means to properly plan and respond to his unforeseen estrangement. But if he were to find where these aliens lived or at least where they operated from, he could fall back on his training to survive long enough for retrieval, or if it came down to it, until he could find his own way back.

The last surviving member of Noble Team would not fail in his responsibilities. No matter the unpredictable peculiarity of this world and its inhabitants, no matter what obstacles would seek to impede his journey, he would return to the fight. He would go back to see the total destruction of the Covenant. He would dismantle their organization brick by brick, genocidal monster by genocidal monster, or he would die in the attempt. He would do this for a waning humanity, for the family he had lost on _Jericho VII_ , and all those who had died and would die in this senseless war.

He would not stop until long after he exacted his just recompense.

 

*****

 

Felina entered into a scene of utter pandemonium. Enforcer headquarters was a maelstrom of raised voices and running bodies. Every desk in sight was occupied and she had seen at least half a dozen squad cars per city block. It would seem as if her Uncle had called in everyone.

The feline took a step back as a kat in a slightly ill-fitting uniform and greying fur hustled past, speaking rapidly into a radio.

It looked as if even the reservist had been activated.

“Lieutenant, the Commander’s been asking for you!”

Still trying to comprehend the radical shift in the once quite building, she simply turned her head to the officer shouting across the near deafening chatter consuming the administration bureau.

“He said to tell you to head up to his office.”

“Right, thanks McNeal.” She nodded her gratitude and weaved through the hustle and bustle till she arrived at the elevator. She was grateful for the reprieve from the chaos as the lift’s doors shut, sealing her away from the bedlam and taking her all the way to the top of the tower.

The scene she arrived to was stark in its opposing polarity.

Unlike the floors below, the level housing the upper management for the Enforcer’s was deathly silent, a contrast that set Felina’s fangs on edge. As usual, while the grunts waded through the disarray below, the so called _‘leaders’_ rested upon their laurels atop an ivory tower.

She held great respect for her Uncle and all he had done for Megakat City, however his Lieutenant Commander and the superintendents did not hold her favor. It was a wonder how the Commander had kept the city intact considering the ludicrous hoops he had to jump through to get approval for even the smallest deployment of resources.

Luckily, depending on who you asked, his efforts were not alone.

As much as she knew he disliked them. If not for the Swat kats, Megakat City would have descended into lawless anarchy a long time ago. Personally she was not entirely supportive of their vigilantism, yet unlike the laughable efforts of the police department, bloated as it was with corpulent politicians, they at least got things done.

In her musing, the elevator doors nearly closed with her still inside, and the feline hastily slipped out with an embarrassed groan at having been so lost in thought. Thankfully no one had been in the lobby to see her blunder.

Stopping in the overly opulent antechamber she spent a quick moment dusting off her uniform and straightening any wrinkles that might have accumulated during her sojourn out into the forest.

Once confident she was presentable enough, she traveled down the comically long hallway leading to the Commander’s Office. Stopping at the door, she rapped politely against the varnished wood, waiting until she heard the familiar baritone of her Uncle’s voice as he called for her to enter.

Given leave to step inside, Felina did just so, taking a moment to gauge the room as she moved to stand in front of the desk.

Much like the kat himself, Commander Feral’s office was fastidiously clean and meticulously kept. Every paper was sorted exactly and not a single pen was out of place. Mounting the walls squaring off his room were countless medals and certificates of achievement, all of which spoke volumes of his character. She could not help but feel pride whenever she found herself in here.

The Feral family has long carried a line of distinctive service, both in the Enforcers and in the military. Being in this room was just a visible reminder of their noble heritage.

Taking her eyes off the various accruements of office, she focused her attention on her Uncle, and saw what most others did not see, for they could hardly look such a kat in the muzzle. While his physique and bearing was as insurmountable as ever, his eyes told a different story. Tired, worn by the demands of his position, her Uncle was a kat that had taken the brunt of backstabbing politicking as well as the high stress burdens of his job.  

Concealing her worry, she instead straightened her spine and offered a crisp salute.

“At ease, Lieutenant.” He ordered, waiving off any more pomp and formality as he gestured for her to take a seat.

Taking the proffered chair, she primly balanced her paws on her knees and sat ready for what she suspected was a debriefing.

“I received word of your… findings, some hours before you returned. Since then I’ve been contacted by both General Ironclaw” the large kat sighed heavily with unexpressed irritation, “and Mayor Manks. As you can imagine they expressed entirely different concerns. But for the moment that is irrelevant. What I want to know is what exactly you found out there, in your own words.”

“To start, Sir, we responded to a 911 call from a local farmer in regards to a possible plane crash. Following the directions the farmer gave we arrived at the site some sixty kilometers outside the city.” She answered carefully and as directly as she could, knowing that any detail could be important or potentially vital in further investigation. “Its composition and design are as of yet, unidentified, but I do know that it is, or rather was, a highly advanced military aircraft.” She paused for a moment, uncertain if she should continue. Felina had her suspicions, but she was not confident they would be appreciated. Yet all the same, he had asked for her analysis, in her own words nonetheless.

“I do not believe it originated from this country.”

The Commander’s expression was grim as he nodded darkly. “I had suspected as much. As did the General it seems. He has already requested that we transfer the wreckage to military purview. I am inclined to agree, this is well outside of our jurisdiction. Until the local National Guard unit arrives to acquire the debris, I’ve put the entire force on high alert. For all we know this could be the beginning of an attack. Did you find the pilot?”

“No. While the aircraft was undoubtedly piloted, we found no trace of the individual other than a set of tracks leading into the forest nearby. And yet… judging from the severity of the crash, I don’t understand how they could have walked away from it.” It baffled her to even consider how anyone could have survived what she saw. “I deemed it unadvisable to conduct a search for the pilot without authorization.”

The older feline nodded sagely. “That was a sensible decision. It’s better to let the military handle such an investigation.”

Felina felt uneasy at the possibility presented by her developing supposition. “You think it could be the katzistani?” The United Clans’ relation with their eastern neighbors had always been tenuous, ever since the last war. The thought of this sparking another was one she sorely did not want to consider.

“It’s a possibility.” Her Uncle admitted. The Empire of Katzikstan had been in a technological arms race with the United Clans since the end of the cold war. It very well could have been a test flight for a new air superiority fighter that went wrong. “Regardless, I want you to oversee the transport and relocation of the wreckage to Megakat R&D and safeguard it until the army detachment arrives. Hopefully after that it will no longer be our problem.”

“Of course, Sir. Consider it done.” She declared with confidence, and sensing that the conversation was in its final stage, she rose from her seat and prepared to leave.

However there were a few words her Uncle had still yet to say.

“Felina…”

She paused at the dropping of formality and genuine note of unfamiliar care in his voice, and turned back to him, his eyes even more haggard than before.

“Stay safe, and that’s an order.”

“Of course… Uncle.” She nodded curtly and stepped outside into the silent hall.

 

*****

 

The room just outside the mayor’s office was a place not often utilized, visible by the accumulation of dust upon the unassuming desk isolated against the far wall. Though it had been furnished for use by his assistant, the calico kat hardly ever had the time to take advantage of her modest workplace, far too occupied with juggling her own responsibilities as well as those of the Mayor himself.

That evening was a particularly rare occurrence in her usual weekly routine. With the Mayor out playing golf with potential campaign contributors, and the city itself mostly quite after the Swat kats last intervention against the time manipulative threat posed by the Pastmaster, Callie Briggs could finally take a moment to clear the dust from her infrequently used desk and other accruements of her pseudo office space, and finally overlook the pile of papers that always seemed to accumulate in her absence. 

While rather banal and unexciting considering the usual affairs she found herself unwittingly wrapped up in, she enjoyed the little chore of housekeeping just for that very reason. She would take sorting supplies and approving zoning requests over dodging bullets and escaping capture any day.

Such fur raising exploits were better left to the Swat kats, or Lieutenant Felina.

Musing on her unusual luck, the tawny feline hummed a soft tune as she finished wiping away the dust and filed her last paper for the day. Standing from her seat with a huff of pride, she looked to the pile of finished documents and the newly immaculate surface of her workspace, and allowed herself to bask in the sense of accomplishment at a concluded day’s work.

Hopefully the Mayor wouldn’t need here for the rest of the night, because either way, she was going home. As proud as she was in her efforts, she didn’t want to spend another minute in the building if she didn’t have to.

For once looking forwards to the frozen dinner that would be waiting for her back at her apartment, and the luxurious softness of her king sized bed; she hitched a ride on the nearby elevator and soon stepped out onto the streets of Megakat City.

Upon stepping outside she was accosted by a chilly gust of wind and hurriedly buttoned up her carmine coat, wondering why it was that professional businesses always insisted that their female workforce wear such short skirts.

Or rather she tried not to as she waited for a cab to pass by. 

While she stood there, paw raised to hail a taxi; she took the time to drink in the sights and sounds of Megakat City’s nightlife.

Like most big cities, no matter the time of day, there was usually a fairly large pedestrian presence traveling to and fro along the sidewalks, those who operated the night shifts at the local power plants or the occasional night owl out to visit any one of the many establishments that still catered to their clientele at such hours.

No matter how many times she left the office, she was always surprised with the citizens of the city. No matter what nefarious scheme befell the populace, they had always endured, stoic in their desire to maintain their lives, despite the inexplicable adversities they had to endure, more so than any other city in the country.

With the likes of Dr. Viper and Dark Kat, one might wonder why the military had not stepped in to deal with such threats. It was a solution the common citizen had wished answered on a daily basis. For the Mayor’s Aide, she already knew why. And it was not exactly a pleasant revelation.

There were a lot of politics involved in the upper echelons of city management, even more than most kats realized. Notwithstanding his seemingly flagrant abuse of his position, Mayor Manks held near total power over Megakat City. The Enforcers, and even the military, needed his authorization if they wanted to perform any large scale operations within the limits of the municipality.

And she knew him well enough to know that he would not allow anything of the like so long as he was in power. He was afraid how such maneuverings would affect his popularity, which was already a flagging concern for the average voter.

She just hoped that someday, someone else might step into the position, someone who would not be afraid to make the hard decisions. But until then, she did her best from the inside to mitigate what damages she could, a rather thankless job.

But someone had to do it.

Thinking about the present was disheartening, and she felt her mood decline as she watched a cab pull to the side right in front of her. She could only hope that the future would be brighter.

Callie sighed as she opened the back door and settled herself in for the long commute home.

 

*****

 

In the end his objective had not been hard to find. He could see the light pollution of the sprawling city long before it came into sight. He would admit, to a somewhat small degree, that he was impressed by the expansive urban metropolis that seemed to range from the nearby shore and across an immense oceanic body of water, the two halves of the great city conjoined by a solitary bridge secured by a lattice work of suspension cables and sturdy concrete foundations.

It reminded him, in a poorly imitated and crude fashion, of the capital city on Reach, though by now he concluded that New Alexandria would cut a far worse picture, slagged as it had been by the Covenant’s orbital bombardment. If he were to develop a rudimentary understanding of the technological gap between humanity and this new species, he would be willing to wager that they had yet to develop beyond the use of fossil fuels, which he could then further conclude that they would in all likelihood possess a primitive space program, if any at all.

If he was right in judging their society on face value, then his chances of leaving this world had plunged even further. Nevertheless, he would worry about that when he could afford to. Instead he tacked off the first objective on his list.

Now having discovered at least one of their settlements, he could shift into the next phase, active reconnaissance. Considering the disparities between humanity and these feline-like aliens, he would have to adapt the standard procedure usually used for infiltrating insurrectionist held worlds. 

Though he would have preferred not to, if they had been human he could have at least removed his Mjolnir to subvert the populace. But seeing as he was not covered in fur, nor possessed a tail, he would need to be more careful in his maneuverings, as most options were beyond his means.

Thankfully he could still somewhat follow protocol. He would first need to scout the level of advancement for this civilization, discern the extent of their technological development. Once confident in the understanding of their capabilities, he would have to gauge the effective strength of their military. If it was within his abilities to handle, then he could focus on acquiring the means of contacting the UNSC.

Yet before he could do even this, he needed access to their global positioning satellites. That is if they even possessed such technology. However he was fairly confident at their current state of development they would at the least have established some sort of orbital array. But that was not his biggest concern. Without an A.I to remotely connect to their network, he would have to not only discover where the actual link was held, but personally connect his TACPAD to their servers.

He was confident that the codebreaking algorithms downloaded into the device would be powerful enough to pierce whatever encryption safeguarded their systems. The hard part would be finding the network node and getting close enough to access it.

Shifting slightly from his prone position atop the cliff face overlooking his side of the bay, the spartan activated the VISR software loaded into his HUD. While neutered of most its capabilities in its current state disconnected from a broad-band network, it at least offered low-light vision and a telescopic magnification that he could use to gather intelligence from his current location.

His vision, enhanced beyond his already biologically augmented retinas, could peer into the extensive city skyline, amidst the jungle of metal spires and the stout, dark red earthenware buildings that dominated the majority of civil construction. He searched specifically for any kind of broadcasting equipment. His best chance would probably be a news network. While military equipment would have been preferable, and undoubtedly superior, if he wished to retain his anonymity it would be best to distance himself from their armed forces for as long as he could maintain his secrecy.

The spartan had no desire to involve civil authority.

Several minutes of thorough observation passed before he found a possible location. Deep in the heart of the city, across the waterfront, was a fairly large structure with a white concrete front. While outwardly it was nearly indistinguishable from its neighbors, the fairly large radio antenna atop its roof singled it out as his target building.

Noble Six unenthusiastically surveyed the vast separation between him and his objective; where the uninitiated would see several kilometers of busy streets and transparent windows, the spartan recognized unfavorable terrain with limited concealment and possible concealment for snipers.

The special operations operative glanced to his tarnished armor. Though once the titanium plating had been treated with a coating of non-reflective silver, the crash and ensuing flames had burned away the solid coloration, blackening his Mjolnir with a charcoal-like residue. It would no doubt take considerable effort to remove the discoloration. And yet, in its present condition, it might prove more suitable to the environment.

Although its new shade would work well in shadows, he found the prospect of infiltrating the city at ground level to be near impossible, with greater risk than reward. He deliberated the merits of finding a sewer entrance, but without a mapping system he was more likely to become lost in the labyrinthine catacombs that no doubt crawled through the megalopolis’s underbelly.

With his physical enhancements, further augmented by his armor, it was a more conceivable concept to traverse the city’s rooftops, and he ran a lower risk of detection if he inserted from a higher elevation. He nodded to himself as he came to a decision. Logic dictated progression from above. It was perhaps not the best plan he had formulated, but in recent context, it would have to suffice.

Terrible plan aside, it was good to be orientated upon a goal once more, the direction, and the purpose it offered allowed him to, even temporarily, forget his unfavorable circumstances. First gather information, then figure out a means of getting back.

As long as he focused on the mission, he could still believe in his duties.

Rising up from his cloaked positon within the underbrush, he found a relatively even slope and slid down the grade, his armor cushioning him from hard rock underneath. The time it took for him to reach the bottom, he kept his shields inactivate. The spartan was unwilling to broadcast his position, something that the envelope of protective energy would do in his controlled slide.

He hit the ground at a sprint, shield systems flaring online as he skirted the edge of the small dockyard sitting below the cliff. Placing himself between the port and the surf to his right, the human supersoldier circumnavigated the breadth of the city as he made his way to the bridge.

It would be faster for him to cross using their infrastructure then it would have been if he decided to cut straight across the ocean. He did not know how deep the waters were or what manner of marine life swam through the alien sea’s depths.

He already had his fill of oceanic predators back on Mamore. With the Sabres still in experimental testing, his had suffered a critical engine failure, forcing him to bail out over the planet’s southern ocean. The ensuing seventy three minutes before extraction via a specialized diving team, would never be forgotten by him for as long as he lived.

He had one consideration that summed up the entirety of that unpleasant experience.

Mjolnir did not float.

Since then, the spartan was not afraid of deep water, but he was averse to it.

Six looked down at the murky channel a hundred meters below him as he traveled across the maintenance catwalks, wondering what new horrors might await down in the dark waters. He was not, however, curious enough to investigate.

Shaking his head at entertaining such distractions, he returned his thoughts to the task at hand, praying for expediency in the coming mission and days to follow.  

 

*****

 

In the end reaching the rooftops of the buildings in the city had been easier than he suspected it to be, a simple matter of climbing the first fire escape he came across. From there it had been even easier to maintain his concealment as he bounded from rooftop to rooftop. The denizens of this world were much like humans, in the respect that they did not pay attention to the world above them. And in his brief glimpses of the environment below as he cut across buildings, the soldier noted that the everyday bustle of their community was much like a UNSC colony, their infrastructure even mirroring human construction in a way that was to a certain degree reassuring to a spartan so out of his element.

Recalling what he had learned about public infrastructure during his many lessons in the program, it was fairly simple for him to navigate the outwardly complex maze of civil engineering.

He made good time in his trek over the city’s spires, little less than an hour passed before he arrived at the structure overlooking his objective. Standing atop the roof’s edge, he directed his attention down to the news building several stories below him. If their society operated under any sort of municipal planning that emulated human architecture and design, which through his studies appeared conclusive, then the server room housing their communications equipment would be somewhere near the top floor. Therefor it was only logical that he infiltrate the development from a point that would place him closest to his mark.

The spartan spent several moments calculating the velocity he would need to achieve if he was going to clear the gap between buildings and land safely on his target. There was approximately a thirty-five meter clearance separating the two buildings. Taking into account the structure under him was twelve stories taller; he would need to produce sufficient speed to land at his goal. It would was going to be close, even with assistance. His armor contained several maneuvering jets for use in zero-g environments. However, in this instance, they would do little more than generate enough lift to counteract the substantial weight of his Mjolnir.

Nevertheless there was truly only one way to find out.

Jogging to the end of the opposite side of the rooftop, he lowered into a crouch and primed his muscles. The following jump would be an all or nothing affair, and the soldier prepared himself in that moment for the worst case scenario, though he would prefer not to miss.

Noble Six launched forwards, reaching, nearly instantaneously, acceleration in excess of sixty kilometers per hour. Maintaining his speed, he crossed the roof in moments and coiled the muscles in his leg before unwinding them in a released burst of controlled propulsion that sent his armored form careening high into the air.

Before the half tonnage of his Mjolnir could bring him careening into the street hundreds of meters below, the jets built into his suit activated. Armored segments around his calf and upper back receded to reveal four conical nozzles that flared into existence with the harsh rumble of blistering exhaust fumes.

The spartan spent ten tense seconds hurtling weightless through the sky, seconds that seemed like an eternity to a mind enhanced to a point that it could run rapid combat computations at such speed as to alter the perception of time

And then, before the eleventh second could pass, his boots impacted the concrete of the adjacent rooftop. Rolling forwards to negate the inertia of his arrival, he skidded to a stop just before he collided with the far wall.

Taking only a moment to adjust to his new environment, the spartan rose from his crouch and set his eyes upon the roof access door across from him. He noticed the box-like, rectangular outline of the camera recessed into the upper left corner, and moved swiftly to disable it. Five seconds passed before it was neutralized as he uploaded a command from his TACPAD for it to recycle the last five minutes of footage on an endless loop.

Simultaneously, he was relieved to learn that the infiltration software on his device still functioned against unknown systems. Designed as it was to counter the technologically superior Covenant, it should not have really come as to much of a surprise it could countermand the inferior equipment.

Secure in the knowledge that he had not yet been detected; the spartan examined the door, scanning for any alarm systems that might be triggered by his forced entry, of which the scans soon indicated the absence of such deterrents. Apparently the owner of this building was unconcerned with theft, seeing as the only means of surveillance or detection had been the camera he hijacked.

Now acting without the threat of immediate discovery, he could address the situation without resorting to unnecessary force. While it would have been easiest to simply rip the handle off the door, the less he did to reveal his presence the better off he would be, which was why, with the gritting of his teeth, he methodically removed the hinges and set the door aside with the intention of reinstalling it on his way out.

A set of stairs now lay in front of him, and down the steps, his objective.

Readying himself for the delicate task ahead, the spartan wondered distantly at the absurd nature of his current situation. He had been trained to destroy entire terrorist organizations, equipped with weapons and technology that allowed him to match the peerless might of a massive alien empire. Yet here he was, sneaking into a news network to download the equivalent of a civilization’s almanac.

Since his arrival he had fallen far from his intended purpose.

The spartan released a muted sigh directed at the laughable decline of his profession as he removed the handgun on his thigh and tightened his gauntlet about the grip. The faster he accomplished his objectives, the sooner he would return to the UNSC and slake his presently incapable desires for vengeance.

It would be best if did not have to resort to needless death. He had no real reason to kill any of these strange aliens, and doing such would only make their desire to reciprocate that much stronger should they ever be made aware of his presence. All the same, he considered his life far more valuable than any one of theirs. And it one or two deaths would make his task easier….

Hopefully it would not come to that.

 

*****

 

Holding true to his assumption that infiltrating the building would prove unchallenging, Noble Six ghosted through halls and down stairwells with soundless poise, bypassing the occasional feline tapping away at a keyboard in one of the myriad of walled cubicles. Night, as always, proved to be the optimum time to maintain stealth. Of the seven floors he had already cleared, he only need circumvent a handful of late night workers. His motion tracker was quite useful in that field, keeping his movements invisible and his presence unnoticed.

The system of cameras proved to be the most trouble, which was to say very little, the spartan leaving a trail of looped surveillance videos that would be undetected and untraceable until long after they had returned to normal operation.

“Were you there when Ann caught footage of those crazy slime monsters?”

Hearing voices, Six paused outside the breakroom, a mellow glow illuminating the darkened hallway he had been gliding through.

“Was I there? Was I there? Damnit Mitch, I was her freaking camera kat! Of course I was there. I almost got eaten!” 

“Dang… really?”

The spartan discerned movement within the small employee kitchen, his motion tracker identifying two contacts approaching from ahead and he swiftly retreated into one of the empty cubicles he had passed previously. Not a second later two felines, both males, vacated the room and headed off down the hall he had entered from, their discussion fading into silence as they disappeared around the bend.

Six waited a minute longer for anyone else to follow before he continued on with the mission. Barring the previous incident, he didn’t encounter any other roving personnel, locating his objective a further three floors down, behind a door quite evidently labeled _Server Access_.

The keycard locked barrier proved to only be a negligible obstruction, the computer on his forearm proving far stronger than whatever encryption the security measure utilized. He stopped however, before opening the door, his tracker alerting him to the presence of a single individual inside, eight meters from the doorway.

The soldier looked to his pistol, and reluctantly stowed it away, retrieving instead the knife sheathed to his left shoulderplate. If he was pressed into confrontation, he did not want to leave any ballistics for local police to retrieve and analyze. He would have liked even less to have to pry a bullet out of a feline’s skull or a concrete wall.

The blade, while messier, would suit his need to remain anonymous in the event he needed more than his strength to secure success. The possibility that this alien could overpower him physically was negligible, but he had not lived this long by taking unnecessary risks.  

He did feel, to some infinitesimal degree, guilt at the ease with which he discounted the life of an alien, a person, unaligned with the Covenant or insurrection. It was no within his ethics to harm non-combatants, or at least it had been before ONI shifted him into wetwork. Since then his hands had been bloodied by political revolutionists and public ‘ _dissidents’_. He promised himself, that if it came down to it, if it was a choice to preserve his secrecy, and end a life… he would make it quick, if not painless.

He opened the door wide enough to slip inside, closing it soundlessly behind him.

The interior of the server room, much like any he had seen before if somewhat primitive, was a series of massive machines set in identical rows, equidistant between the other. At his immediate entry he saw no sign of the alien currently inhabiting the room with him. Realizing that it must be inside one of the aisle and was not an immediate threat to his discovery, he slightly loosened his grip on the knife. The spartan skirted silently across lanes of immense computer equipment, until he had halved the distance between himself and the other occupant.

Ready to move in if he would be spotted, the spartan peered around the corner of the adjacent server node, noticing the turned back of a somewhat lanky feline in blue overalls and a dark grey dress shirt. Sitting beside him on the floor was a small laptop, a set of color coded wires leading from the tiny machine and into the closest computing tower.

Somewhat relieved, the augmented supersoldier sheathed his knife and stepped out from behind his concealment. His ensuing neutralization of the technician was relatively effortless. Wrapping his arm around the feline’s neck, he swiftly rendered him unconscious with a subtle increase in pressure.

However it would not last long, maybe two minutes before he returned to awareness. Arranging the alien so that it would appear as if he had fallen asleep while working, the spartan hooked his TACPAD into the workstation and activated the data tunneler. Thirty seconds later and he was already outside the room and on his way back to the roof.

With only the need to retrace his steps, he was out on the rooftop, waiting for his tunneling software to finish its work long before the technician would wake up with a slight headache, thinking he had taken a nap during his shift.  

If Six were to take into consideration his previous usage of the intelligence gathering datamine, it would probably take an hour for the software to infect their computer systems and create a backdoor for his TACPAD to access their online network. Thirty minutes after that and he should have admission to the city’s blueprints, historical articles, any potential GPS satellites, and whatever material he could gather from their internet.

He intended to use that interim productively.

Now that he would eventually obtain the facts he needed, it was time to find a location where he could analyze what would undoubtedly be thousands of pages of relevant information, without worrying about discovery or placing himself too far away from the city and possible opportunities. Even if he were to disregard ninety percent of the data, it would still take days to collect even a remedial conceptualization of an entirely foreign society.

He was not anticipating the undeniably enormous task lying ahead of him. Usually his missions were already vetted by ONI, with a short, concise brief on his objective and mission parameters. Trapped on this world without outside assistance, he was denied this luxury and was compelled to act independently and amass his own data.

This was not beyond the scope of his abilities, he had trained for similar situations where he was beyond the guidance of his handler or any other form of leadership. His only frustration lay in the fact that doing his own intelligence gathering would severely hinder his movements and limit his capabilities to launch future missions.

Dwelling on the impending adversities that stood between him and his overall objective, the spartan set out to search for a suitable location from which to conduct his strategic planning. There would be much to do if he was going to find a way back to the UNSC. And he would need a hideout from which to stage his operations.

The coming days would be a true test of his abilities, deprived as he was of even basic mission support utilities and isolated from friendly assets. This forced him to consider the very real probability of failure. If he were to survive he would have to avoid open conflict with the native inhabitants. Despite their comparatively unsophisticated technology, he could not hope to defeat the collective militaries of an entire planet unaided.

The spartan also realized that he could not allow them to remain in possession of the wreckage from his sabre. Destroyed as it had been, it was still prototype UNSC hardware that he could not allow an unaffiliated association to study and potentially reverse engineer.

He had his next task.

Once he was well established and had some bare bones concept of what mess he had landed in, he would have to discover where they moved the debris, and initiate procedures for asset denial. Gut instinct from his experiences told him it would not be as easy as it sounded, and considering how difficult it already appeared, he was not entirely encouraged by the uncertainty of his future.

Nevertheless he would not fail in his duties.

Not again.


	3. Covert ops

It was a strange and yet paradoxically familiar world that the spartan found himself temporarily residing upon. Noble Six was altogether unsure what to make of this place. Nothing he learned in the program had ever prepared himself for this particular situation. His previous comparison to a UNSC colony was startlingly apt from what he had come to learn of this world and its inhabitants. Yet he had never before in his experience encountered something so acquainted and yet radically divergent.

Three days had passed since he retrieved the proverbial keys to the alien online net, and he had spent forty-eight of those seventy-two hours attempting to discern any form of advantage, or oftentimes even logic, in the inexplicable absurdity of this foreign network. The deserted and rather spacious warehouse he had provisionally requisitioned for himself proved to be a suitable, albeit impermanent living arrangement while he attempted to strategize for his next operation. It would not have been his first choice for a safehouse, but it was by a fair margin, the most viable for his current needs.

He had observed the location for an entire day before he was confident enough to believe it was abandoned, or at least would remain so in the temporary interim he planned to use it. There were a few unusual characters that wandered about the alleys at night, but as long as he was careful, they wouldn’t be a problem. The interior of the waterfront building was barren, a yawning stretch of naked concrete with a framework of catwalks for the second story. But the manager’s office had boarded windows and a sturdy iron door. It was not perfect, but preferable to the other locations he had scouted.

It provided shelter and if he was to be discovered he could easily outmaneuver any pursers in the maze of warehouses lining the docks. And as he lacked both reliable transportation and a means to move through the area unimpeded, it was the best he could do with such limitations.

Suspect living arrangement aside, having a somewhat secure site had at least allowed him to focus on discerning the information he had been gathering for the past few days. The act of perusing countless hours of online material, and the general lack of physical activity had a negative impact on both his patience and his sanity. He had not been designed for prolonged reconnaissance and Intel gathering. Even in his operations against the insurrection he could count on the fact he would need to fight eventually. This, however, was different. He could not afford to treat these inhabitants like the rebels, could not submit to a combative mentality. They were not an opposing force, but simply an obstacle impeding his efforts, obstacles he could not crush for concerns of the long term implications. Frustrated as he was, he could not fight them, not openly and not in the way he had been taught. The spartan had trained extensively for a more aggressive theatre of war, and did not respond entirely well to such protracted lengths of inaction.

Even in that moment he could feel his restlessness manifesting in the unconscious twitching of his muscles as they flexed and relaxed, his body desperate to do anything other than what he had been doing for the past several days. The nervous twitch was made worse since he could not even travel all that far from his hideout for fear of discovery. As impermanent as his current position may have been, he desired even less to have to relocate. Unsurprisingly there were not all that many places in a highly active city for someone like him to lay low.

Nevertheless, such issues were personal and posed no real detriment to his operation. And on a lighter note, for his efforts he had learned a great deal about this world and its unusual inhabitants.

The civilization of cats… or rather kats, as they apparently called themselves for whatever inane reason, was composed of a society that greatly reflected a unified humanity during the early 22nd century. Though they used fossil fuels and relied on strange combination of comparatively archaic and in some cases highly advanced technology, they were well on their way to following in mankind’s footsteps. He learned, much to his disappointment, that while they actually did possess a space program, it would be years before they could do more than visit their orbiting satellite.

He would need to find his own way off this rock.

The settlement he had chanced upon went by the name of Megakat City, supposedly the most densely populated and advanced municipality in the United Clans, the nation within which boundary he made temporary residency. And that was just the tip of the iceberg of knowledge he needed to gain. He memorized the overflow of unimportant facts pertaining to national borders and geopolitical environments, more to form a comprehensive understanding of the difficulties he would face then of any personal interest. Should he ever escape this world and rejoin the UNSC, he was confident his findings would excite the scientific community for years to come.

There was, unsurprisingly, a near incalculable amount of data to metabolize, and even forty-eight hours of uninterrupted examination only provided him with a limited grasp of this world.

He had not even touched upon their culture yet.

While of no particular interest to himself, anything he could glean about the inhabitants of this world was information he could use to keep himself alive. It would only take a second of incomprehension, a brief moment ignorance in the face of opposition, to get himself killed. The entire world was against him. He could not garner support from the populace nor establish contacts within their society.

He was, ironically enough, completely and utterly alien.

Noble Six sighed quietly, the exhalation more instinctive than bearing any intent as he set his helmet down on the rusted desk ornamenting the warehouse office. The spartan reached into a pouch on his breastplate and retrieved an emergency protein bar, eyeing the plastic wrapped block of dense calories with mild disdain. Although UNSC field rations were not exactly delicacies unto themselves, an MRE was preferable in taste to that of supplies reserved for Special Forces units out in the field.

It would sate his hunger, and ensure that he suffered no nutritional deficiencies, but that did not mean it didn’t possess the flavor and perception of a brick of chalk that uncertainly tasted of meat and bread. At least that’s what he hoped he tasted. It had been years since he last had anything that could be considered edible to a civilian.

Stomaching his distaste, the spartan choked down his first meal since his disastrous awakening as he drew up plans for his next operation, the TACPAD on his bracer filling the room with a muted blue glow as he studied the research complex housing his objective.

Megakat R&D, or Puma-Dyne as it was known to those with high enough clearance, was a facility and organization that was currently in possession of human tech. He had researched the firm carefully, hacking its servers to retrieve information not accessible to the public, genetic manipulation, ablative and reactive armors, infantry portable energy weaponry, it was a black ops military facility in all but name. The Sabre could not be allowed to remain in the hands of the scientists of this world. They were not his adversaries in the way of the Covenant and he had no governmental directive to consider them hostile, but he could not allow UNSC technology to be compromised.

They were not his enemy as of this moment, but it was a potentiality.

The spartan, brushing flakes of protein bar off the warehouse desk, considered all possibilities for success. He would need a viable insertion point and a means of swift exfiltration. This was a high profile organization, even as it was a cover-up for more clandestine research its front was a well-known institute for science. He could not afford to draw unnecessary attention to his presence here in the city, nor could he allow the local constabulary and military factions to mobilize against him.

He looked to his rifle.

Skimming the release button, he caught the magazine as it fell from the stock of the MA37. In the same motion, Noble Six flicked his thumb over the first brass cartridge loaded into the mag and the bullet dropped into his waiting gauntlet.

He studied the 7.62x51mm round skeptically.

By his calculations he had 480 rounds, fifteen magazines before he was out of ammunition for the MA37, and 48 shells, or six full tubes for his shotgun. It was a standard combat load, given to soldiers before they left for the field. However that was with the implicit understanding that resupply was available.

He had no such luck.

From what he understood through investigation, the inhabitants of this world used scalable energy weapons, primitive in form when compared to the Covenant and even some of the cutting-edge tech under research in the UNSC before his relocation. Ballistic weaponry was uncommon on this world.

As such it was an unlikelihood that he would attain any ammunition for his weapons for the duration of his unwanted occupation. He doubted he would find anything sufficient in the future to bolster his arsenal. This would mean that prolonged engagements would be inadvisable as he did not have the supplies to maintain any further escalation. Discretion was the word of the day, and yet as much as he disliked such missions, he had not been on ONI black operations without reason.

He had experience in this particular theater of war.

The spartan would just have to make do with what he had.

He always did.

 

*****

 

“This… this is utterly incredible! The propellant for the thrusters utilizes a mix of chemicals as of yet undiscovered by modern science! And the hull? Ablative heat shielding inlaid with some new kind of metal alloy. That is not even taking into account of its electrical systems. To think of the….”

Felina sighed, brushing a paw across her muzzle in irritation as the scientist went on and on about the _wondrous_ mysteries of what she considered to be nothing but an ugly heap of scrap metal. It was far too high above her pay grade for her to care. It’d probably be better for her career, and health, if she let it alone.

Some people, however, could not. 

Content enough to let the researcher talk himself to death, she turned her gaze to the long stretch of open space inside the hanger. There were several kats in lab coats shuffling about, calibrating recently transferred lab equipment and chattering animatedly with each other as they consulted a plethora of whiteboards and more advanced holo tables that had been wheeled and installed respectively, for the new project.

She might have been impressed with the haste they were exhibiting if she did not already know it was because they would not have the debris for long. It’d only been four days since the crash, and after a full day of combing the site for any lingering fragments from the craft, the wreckage had been moved to Megakat R&D. Since then the scientists here have been practically frothing at the mouth with all the theories and ideas about its origin.

“Dr. Maine, please.” She finally relented with a tired sigh after several minutes of his babbling, realizing that he probably would not stop unless prompted to. “Just tell me why it is you saw the need to interrupt my nap.” She had been in the middle of a rather pleasant dream when the agitated feline had burst into the break room spouting some incomprehensible nonsense.

That, unsurprisingly, made for a somewhat irritable Felina Feral.

The kat, seeming to realize for the first time that he had been rambling, took a step back and dusted his coat with an embarrassed cough. “Ah yes, of course. Forgive my excitement, Lieutenant, but it is just so _extraordinary._ If my theory is correct there is no telling what impact it may have upon the scientific community, or all kat kind.”

“And what theory, pray tell, is that, Doctor?” Feline inquired as she sat herself down on a nearby rolling chair.

She then watched as he dragged a whiteboard before her, its surface scrawled with a multicolored spectrum of various colors and equations beyond her understating.

“Well as you know,” He began with audible exhilaration that only seemed to grow the more and more he spoke and gesticulated wildly at his writings. “This was recovered in its current state some days ago, and since then we’ve been able to postulate initial impact values utilizing the crater at the crash site and the thermic damage to the nearby flora. But that is just _one_ part of an even more fascinating surprise.”

The kat brandished a pointer, leveling it at a periodic table of elements similar to what she learned in late primary school. The tip of the pointer itself was leveled against a specific element at the bottom of the list that was circled heavily in red marker… a new element.

“ _This_ ,” Dr. Maine enunciated with a gleam of anticipation flickering in his eyes, “is an element with twenty-two protons. I do not know if you are aware of this, Miss Feral, but kat kind has yet to discover or create such an element.”

She paused, the synapses in her brain firing slowly, as she tried to understand what it was he was trying to tell her, or rather it was her mind attempting to process his intent.

Perhaps seeing the dawning realization on her muzzle, the Doctor nodded gravely. “The materials of this craft are composed of a metallic element beyond the current scope of kat metallurgy, and the technology housed inside utilizes a suite of microchip processors and electrical engineering that is, quite frankly put, impossible for our society to fabricate. What I am saying, Miss Feral, is that we, as a species, _did not_ create this aircraft. We can hardly _understand_ it. It is at least several hundred years more advanced than modern machinery can allow. And the calculations from the impact site were finished only minutes before you were awakened, an impact with an exoatmospheric vector, as in outside the scope of our atmosphere.”

He sighed heavily, the sound a fusion of somber excitement. “This is not an aircraft, Miss Feral. This is a _spaceship_.”

Felina’s chair rolled backwards as she stood up slowly. She tried to truly comprehend the significance of this revelation, but could hardly fathom what it was she had been told. In the end, she supposed it could summarized in simple, easily understood words.

“Oh… oh shit.”

“Oh shit indeed, Miss Feral. We are possibly facing a first contact scenario.”

“The pilot…” She mumbled quietly, fearfully. “We never found the pilot. We had assumed they were maybe from Katzikstan, that maybe they had escaped or blended in to wait for retrieval. But…”

 “Correct.” Dr. Maine nodded thoughtfully. “We took measurements inside the cockpit the moment this became a possibility. All information gathered indicated a bipedal being, though with a significantly larger stature then kat standard. There was also some blood found on the seat, but with most of it burned or charred into the upholstery, we won’t be able to learn anything from it any time soon. But honestly at the moment I am not certain that matters. First Contact was made… and we missed it.”

Felina did not know what it was she should feel in that moment. But she did know at least what it was she had to do.

“A moment please, Doctor. There are a few calls I have to make.”

 

*****

 

Six closed the guard shack’s door, leaving its occupant unconscious and relatively unharmed in her chair. In that moment, as he stepped off the facility’s main road and faded into the clutter of buildings nestled inside the perimeter, the spartan lamented the absence of non-lethal ammunition. It was not usually his modus operandi, but he could have used a magazine of tranquilizer rounds, a handful of flashbangs or even a few smoke grenades.

Unfortunately the war with the Covenant had entirely phased out nonlethal options. No one wanted to enter a combat situation with those monsters with anything that could not kill on demand. 

This of course made his work difficult.

Noble Six was perfectly capable of killing of course. He could easily tear his way through this entire compound, and he probably wouldn’t even need his guns, but that would only mark him as a threat, as well as reveal his presence planetwide. He doubted he would have time to doctor the footage from the security system’s main frame before a militarized force arrived to retaliate, and he was not eager for the opportunity to test his metal against a world’s worth of pissed off aliens.

He’d already had his fill of that.

So when he came across patrols or wandering personnel, he stayed inside the shadows and altered any cameras he came across. This turned his progress into a crawl, and what might have taken him minutes if he had gone loud, instead took hours as he ducked through empty buildings and skulked through maintenance passages and drain pipes.

The map of the facility he possessed was a recent upload into the local data center onsite, and he was grateful for once that he actually had the correct Intel. The irony was not lost on him that it was probably only accurate because he had gathered it himself. He could not think of a time in human history where military analysts had ever consistently delivered correct intelligence for operations.

But that was a problem that was neither here not there, and the spartan stowed the concern away as he crouched behind a stack of wooden pallets at the southernmost end of the research compound.

The nav marker he set on the exterior hangar complex informed him that he was only a few hundred meters from his objective. There were a few bays on site, supposedly to house and maintain whatever experimental vehicles and aircraft that were currently under development. It was only logical to postulate that the wreckage of his sabre would be contained in a similar location.

Noble Six brushed a hand across his Mjolnir’s breastplate, a tertiary check to ensure that he still had the cans of C-7 stacked inside one of the numerous hardcases ornamenting his powered armor. He’d in all probability only need one to ensure the complete demolition of the objective, but he hadn’t made it this far into his career by taking unnecessary risks.

Satisfied that there would be no impediments to his success, the spartan rounded the final corner separating him from his target.

The airfield structure before him was fabricated from mass produced sheet metal, thin and easily manipulated by someone of his strength. It would not take even seven seconds for him to open a tear large enough to fit his significant bulk. Six, taking a moment to prepare himself for the rapid shift from silent to loud operation, placed a palm against the steel wall.

Sensor capillaries weaved into his nanocomposite bodysuit activated, sending a low energy pulse transfusing through the alloy and into the open space behind it, The wave of sound rebounded off any object located inside the structure before the data processing unit in his HUD software then extrapolated information in real time, a useful, if exceptional process built into his Mjolnir. This was just one of the many newer functions available to him as a result of his ONI connections. Tech like this would not have been available to the rest of the program for at least another two years, and was more a sign of the investments poured into him as a prototype weapon more than a spartan. His armor was a testbed for experimental technology, and not always of the kind that worked.

Thankfully any detrimental upgrades had been removed before he was transferred to Reach for anti-insurrectionist operations. What was left remained useful, and in this moment, most welcomed.

_Fifteen anomalous contacts, open area, minimal cover._ It was not exactly a breach situation he was fond of. Fifteen possible alien individuals in a vast, largely exposed interior. This would not have been an issue if he wasn’t trying to reduce or entirely mitigate collateral damage. There was no possibility that he could escape exposure unless he terminated anything that he made visual contact with.

As he was not currently in the habit of senseless murder, at least when not on ONI’s clock, he struggled to make his decision. He could not allow UNSC technology to fall into unaffiliated hands, and yet he was resistant to the notion of spilling innocent blood to achieve his ends. Back in ONI this would not have been an issue, indeed his orders would have been to kill anyone associated with comprised assets.

And while he knew what ONI’s orders would be.

He did not, in the depth of his heart, want to follow them.

Noble Six inhaled loudly, his fingers clenching against the hangar wall, the metal warping easily around his touch.

The choice, in the end, was not an easy one to make.

The spartan released his pent up breath, his helmet filling temporarily with the heavy sound of his fatalistic exhalation. He let go of the wall, his hand moving to chamber a round into his rifle as he raised it upwards, shoulders squared and his lips peeled back as his teeth gritted in a grim rictus.

His duty was more important than any emotional sentiment.

Six crouched low, the force multiplying circuits in his armor activating as his muscles tensed with impending intent.

An explosion knocked him off his feet.

The supersoldier flew backwards as a percussive wave of sound and heat violently slammed into his unbalanced posture. His armored form impacted the wall of the building several feet behind him, half a ton of advanced technology and killing power punching a hole clean through a meter of iron rebar and concrete.

A moment passed as he regained his senses. The spartan leaped to his feet, brandishing his rifle while the haze of powdered building and smoke started to dissipate. He examined his surroundings, the force of the blast having launched him into what looked like a research center. Scattered desks and chairs lay strewn around him amidst a sea of dispersed papers and office supplies, and he could see several bodies prostrated across the floor.

He could see no significant blood loss or visible signs of outside fracturing of bone and deduced that they had simply been knocked out or temporarily incapacitated from the explosion. From the force of the detonation and its apparent size, he could only reason that it had been caused by a high yield device or a severe industrial accident.

Judging from the loud voices and sharp fizzle of weaponry emanating from the hole in the building, he could only infer that it was the former and not the latter.

An outside militarized force… that was something he had not calculated as a possible interference to his plans. He did not know who the attackers might be, he hardly knew anything about this world. But he could not take a risk and disregard the possibility that they were here for his sabre. Destroying any and all traces of human technology, if not before, was now of vital importance and could not be delayed no matter what must be done to secure his objective.

The spartan emerged from the building behind him into a scene of utter chaos.

The hangar was not the only building affected, and he could see the glow of rampant fires in the immediate distance as flames consumed several large structures inside the compound. The doors to the storage unit storing the remains of his ship had been shorn off in a way similar to a breaching charge, and he could hear the sounds of combat coming from inside.

Noble Six dove into cover when he heard footsteps about to round the corner, finding shelter behind an air conditioning unit covered in bits of rubble. The spartan waited, and grew surprised at the small squad of creatures that came into view.

Entirely un-feline in appearance, these aliens were large and vaguely similar to what he had grown used to combating in his career. Covered in a dense scaly hide and towering nearly as large as an ODST in full combat dress, these things were more akin to crocodilians than any alien species he as of yet encountered.

They were decently equipped, wearing modern armor and weaponry, and spoke amongst each other in a thick, guttural language he could not decipher. Ironically, it was surprising that they spoke in an unfamiliar language, and made him question the notion of their origin. But he had no time to wonder beyond that.

The reptilians stacked in front of the broken husk of the hangar doors, and appeared ready to enter the building. It was this action that sealed their demise.

Six merged from his cover, squeezing the trigger of his rifle in four quick bursts. The high velocity rounds punched neat, circular holes through the skulls of his targets, splashing the wall beside them with crimson blood and pinkish brain matter.

Six did not wait long and stepped over their corpses. His pace quickened by the downward spiral of events. Whatever these things were they wanted access to the wreckage and were fully willing to assault a government facility for it. He could not allow that, not with the way the situation was developing.

Following in the footsteps of the dead creatures, he stopped just in front of the doors, readied himself for the approaching violence and confusion, and then rushed inside.

 

*****

 

Feline dived to the side, avoiding the hail of orange lasers that perforated the air she had just been occupying. Growling low to herself, the feline peered from behind the holo-terminal and returned fire with her sidearm.

“Dr. Maine, keep your head down!” She hissed, grabbing the panicked scientist by the wrist and forcing him to crouch low beside her.

“Lieutenant, what’s happening?” The kat asked fearfully, though he continued to listen to her advice as he huddled into a smaller ball, tail tucked tight to his chest.

She might have responded to his question, had she an answer for him. Her brain was still a little fuzzy from the explosion that had knocked her off her feet, but she knew enough to understand that whatever the hell was going on, it had something to do with the starship wreckage.

_Godsdamned army’s never around when you need them._ She wasn’t sure why it would take so long for a military recovery unit to arrive, but at the moment that was not her priority. Thoughts like that wouldn’t matter if these things killed her.

Checking the charge in her pistol, she lifted her head slightly above the holed holo table in front of her and sighted another one of those giant reptiles as it lumbered towards her, covered from multiple positions by its squad. She didn’t know what these things were, but they were professional and organized.

Tongue running across her parched lips, the feline exposed herself for a handful of seconds, targeting the wide-open scaled creature and tapping her trigger rapidly. The weapon in her paws hissed as it spat out an accurate burst, the flurry of lasers skillfully landing on her adversary, center mass.  

Armor bubbled and scaled hide peeled away under the high energy bolts. She watched in grim satisfaction as it dropped to the floor, grunting silently as its lungs were charbroiled.

Felina did not have long to celebrate her minor success before a storm of retaliatory fire smashed into her cover, and she watched in panic as the thick slab of metal and electronics visibly sagged, melting under the harsh fusillade.

It would not be long before they had nowhere to hide.

She looked back to the scientist, huddled in fear and muttering incoherently to himself, and cursed. It’d been stupid to leave her equipment behind, at least she had the damn common sense enough to keep her sidearm with her, otherwise this exchange would have been even more one-sided then it already was.

She could at least assume from the constant sounds of combat, that the rest of the unit that had been assigned here was still alive and doing their best to hold against this unexpected assault.

It was unfortunate that she and the doctor would probably be dead before any of her officers could come and help. Undoubtedly they had their own problems to deal with right now.  They’d have to try and get out of here on their own.

“Doctor, can you hear me?” She looked back to the scientist currently jabbering to himself, and realized that he was probably going to be of no good to her. And she could hardly blame him, this was definitely far beyond what he expected when he went to college.

The feline sighed. “Sorry for this doc.” Raising her handgun, she smashed it across his temple, his muttering silenced as he slumped into unconsciousness.

Grabbing the insensate kat by the collar of his lab coat, she located their next piece of available cover and she readied herself to cross the distance. It was not the best plan, but it was still better than cowering behind the table as it was slowly melted away by concentrated laser fire.

Felina mumbled a prayer and hunched low, leveraging the comatose researcher onto her shoulder before launching herself forwards, her legs pounding against the concrete floor as she sprinted to the next available piece of cover closest to the opposite doors, their best chance at getting away from this encounter with their fur intact.

Fully expecting to be cut down by a withering volley of weapons fire, she was instead surprised when she heard a thunderous roar coming from behind her. The sound was unlike anything she had heard before. The closest she could come to describing it, was rainfall against sheet metal but deeper and deafening in volume.

Whatever it was, it proved to be the distraction she needed and the feline made it to the overturned table out of breath, and not full of holes. Felina set the scientists down gently, propping him against the upended desk as she reached to her holster to retrieve her sidearm.

The feline froze when she felt hot steel press against the back of her head. That was also the moment she recognized that the sounds of battle had grown silent.  

_“Don’t move.”_

Felina flinched at the voice, and she knew she would never forget it however long it was she had left to live, masculine and loud, grating to the ears like broken bottles in a cement mixer.

She briefly considered her options, realized they were practically nonexistent, and decided to obey the demands from her unknown captor.

_“Stand up, slowly.”_

The voice grunted sternly and the panicked feline complied, rising unhurriedly to her feet and making sure he could not misconstrue any of her movements as antagonistic. While she listened to his commands, she desperately tried to recall anything she had learned in the classes she had taken on negotiation she had studied in the academy, but she was terrified when she drew up only blanks. She was far too fearful to think that far back.   

“ _Hands up.”_ The male ordered harshly, and as she moved to follow his instructions she felt his boot, hard edged and metallic, kick against both her legs and spread them apart. A hand soon followed, equally armored and rigid, as it combed over her uniform, obviously searching for hidden weapons. Seemingly satisfied that she was only lightly armed, the hand stopped at her waist, grabbed the sidearm holstered there, and appropriated the weapon.

_“Kneel.”_ He barked aggressively, and when she did not immediately adhere to his demand, he shoved his boot into the back of her knee, and she dropped to the floor with a grunt of pain. The hot sensation of the barrel of his rifle returned, and she was embarrassed when a pathetic whimper escaped her trembling lips. She was proud however, to realize that she was not crying. If this was to be her end, she would at least like to go out with some dignity.

Her whimper turned into a mewl when a hand roughly grabbed her arm, pulling it sharply against her back, and not a second past before her other appendage soon followed. Her ear twitched at a new sound, like a pants zipper, and she felt a sharp sting around her wrists as they were bound together with plastic cordage.

The barrel pressed against her head retreated as a fist closed around the collar of her uniform, and she was hoisted effortlessly off her feet with a single arm. Her attacker dragged her across the hangar and deposited her none too gently against the far wall, her muzzle pressed roughly against the steel. A minute of nervous silence passed before another kat was dropped beside her. It was Dr. Maine, unconscious, but alive and strung up as tightly as she was.

_“Do not attempt to escape and you will live.”_ His parting words drew confusion from Felina; they were softer, if no less coarse.  

Tied up and forced to kneel against a wall, all she could do was listen. She tested her bonds of course, but they were far stronger than she would have expected from a zip tie, and she knew she would not be able to break free without help.

Left with little recourse, she instead focused her efforts on listening to the footsteps of her attacker as he moved about the hangar. Minutes passed in tense silence, until she heard the heavy footfalls of her captor as he returned.

As before his armored hand grabbed her shirt and she was lifted up with no sign or sound of effort from the male as he retrieved Dr. Maine as well. Her vision whirled as she was crudely carried by the unknown assailant. Whoever they were they must have been a giant. Her feet did not even touch the ground, and the Doctor’s unconscious body only scarcely brushed against the concrete, and he was being carried by the waist.

_All information gathered indicated a bipedal being, though with a significantly larger stature then kat standard._

Larger than…

Felina’s chest constricted and a deathly coldness clutched her heart. It made sense in a crazy illogical way.

Her revelation was interrupted by the sound of an explosion, and she nearly flew from her captor’s grasp as the hangar detonated, the feline witnessing first hand as all evidence of the starship and its pilot was burned away. And she could only watch as she was abducted from Megakat R&D by an honest to gods alien.

Helpless in his clutch, she hung suspended from his hand, wondering at her uncertain future.


End file.
